


Childhood is the Kingdom Where Nobody Dies

by xXxVioletSkyxXx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drinking, Gen, Halloween
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-15 10:11:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXxVioletSkyxXx/pseuds/xXxVioletSkyxXx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know drink can bring anyone to hysteria but this is different. This isn't like the other times, it's no hallucination- he's right there. James Potter- back from the dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Long Live the Reckless and the Brave

It was a Tuesday night. It was the last day of October. It was the fourteen-year anniversary of your best-friend's death. Forget visiting the gravesite, you're shaking before you reach the door.

You step off your motorbike and feel the grey-slate rain. Smell it, taste it. Practically inhale it. Pull up your hood but keep your umbrella as a walking stick. You punch Muggle money into the machine opposite for a three hour stay and park the bike in the back-most spot under the spruce tree. You have three hours to reach the state of a drunken haze; you'll be back to your motorbike when you're far past incoherent. You'll be back when it's done.

You then cross the empty street with the empty hat-stand trees and fumble blindly for the door while the rain slides down your face. The houses shake in the wind. Cars streak away into the rain; the next swallows them whole.  
You walk through the door and cross the threshold- feel the courage in your fingers, feel your clothes soaked to the bone. You walk down the small dirty hall with a slouched authority, your head down, boots clunking dully on the wooden floor. The oil paintings frown down on you from the walls. The bar goes silent. The tattoos you bought with prison time burn into your skin; because you're a marked man, even here. Even in this little Bulgarian pub on the edge of town.

The two attractive women look up hopefully when you pass. But you have no time for that today. Today is the day to be alone.

"What'll it be?" he asks. Always the same tone, always the same smirk in his eyes, the same flap of greasy hair and a thick moustache from behind the counter. You sit down on your regular stool and pull out a pack of cigarettes from your leather jacket, lighting the tip with a match.

"Firewhiskey- straight up."

You watch him then, watch as he pulls the same half-empty bottle from beneath the counter, twist off the lid. You make the same joke about downing it in one. Your cigarette slouches on your lips and ash drips onto your collar. The barman is silent. The pub's patrons take to staring.  
The dingy glass is spun towards you, landing just in front of your folded arms. As promised, you down it in one. Silently, the barman refills the glass.

"Good day?  
"Dostatŭchno dobŭr," he says his face impassive and blank. He wipes the counter with a cloth. "Good enough."

You finish your second and third rounds before you answer.  
"I'm leaving town tonight."  
He nods. He knows. You say the same thing every year, every year on the exact same day, the bloody slash of an anniversary. The day you never remember the next morning. You both know enough of the two languages to strike up the same conversation, it hasn't changed in fourteen years and you're not about to change it now.  
"It has to be tonight," you say. "At midnight- when nobody will know or find out. I'm going to Australia, Queens. I booked a flat. I swear, it's for real this time."  
"You gonna go down after? Visit 'im for real?"  
"No."

You never do. You saw him on the day he died and the day he was buried. Never have since. Not for real, anyways. As far as you're concerned, drunken hallucinations don't count.  
He doesn't respond. The barman brings a stack of dirty plates from the back of the bar, Levitating them with an unsteady wand hand. One slips halfway to the overflowing sink and sprays him with oily water. His apron gets smudged with chicken grease and wayward drops of flat mead.  
This is the reason you don't go to the Leaky Cauldron, or even the Three Broomsticks to be closer to Harry. People won't recognize you here like they would back home.

The band in the back shivers their way through the blues, the bass and piano dancing back to the other in a midnight duet. They wear black. They don't look up- the scotch glass on the piano lid is empty. You raise your glass to him, successfully downing another to a fellow lost soul.

For the second time, that heavy wooden door swings open, and in your bleary-eyed haze, you see a smile and a pair of rectangular glasses stand there. The other patrons ignore him, but something lights up in your face. He walks the length of the bar and pulls up the stool beside you. Like you, he salutes the band with a smile.  
And you can't believe it. Don't understand how no one else can see the living and breathing embodiment of a best-friend back from the dead standing in front of you. It's like he never left.  
"Wotcher," he says, pulling off his travelling cloak. He and the coat are completely dry, but you're already too drunk to care about the details. It's him. The little things don't matter.  
He orders a Butterbeer, hot and steaming with a dollop of foam- forever a child, forever twenty-one and invincible. From your pocket, he picks his own cigarette from the pack, tucking a second behind his ear. He drinks deeply, and you follow suit, foam carving lips out of your dumbfounded expression.

"Been waiting long?"  
"Not nearly long enough." You say. "You're late."

He smirks, his black hair flipping around his forehead. The hair that refused to lie straight. The hair you teased him about for years. He's wearing the same outfit he wore on the day he died, the same shirt you cried over for hours fourteen years ago. The same flickering facade you see in nightmares and dreams. The best-friend that's constantly fading in and out of your consciousness.

You order drink after drink; cocktails, mead, tankards of Rakia. Muggle tequila by the shot. Your best-friend does the same. And with every one, his physicality grows clearer, his words louder. Like every other year, you're desperate enough to want to believe that he's really there; actually sitting beside you with a drink in his hand and a word of sympathy for his long-since lost best-friend.  
The bar steadily empties as the moon sinks into dawn, night turns into day. Soon, even those loose women leave. Soon, you're the only ones left.  
He smacks his lips. You light another cigarette. He orders another round and raises his glass- it's some of that absinthe, the strongest stuff there is, the stuff you can never find at home. Now he wants to get drunk, wants to be numb because he knows that he'll never be able to again.  
"To Marauding," he says. He smirks. The obnoxious bastard.  
"Long live the reckless and the brave." You say, completing the motto you invented together when you were fourteen. You smile for the first time in three months. Smile with your best-friend that you haven't seen in a year.  
The barman slides your umpteenth drink towards you, and you watch as it defies gravity for a moment before it lands flat on the rough hewn slab of wood. You raise your glass with your best-friend.

"I've missed you, Jamie."  
He nods, puts a hand on your shoulder. Grimaces, not for him- but for you. Always for you. But it doesn't touch, doesn't make it that far. It feels like a river running down your arm, not like a normal hand. It's not comforting like a humans hand should be.

"It hasn't been the same since, not like you said it would," You say, loudly and maybe even a hysterically because your best-mate is back from the dead and you only see him when you're drunk, only see him on Hallows Eve. And it scares you because you're going mad, seeing things. But you're not- he's right there, right in front of you smoking a cigarette just like he used to. And year after year you do the same thing, go to the same pub in Bulgaria, get drunk out of your wits and see him again. It's unhealthy and wrong but you don't care- you're so beyond caring. He's wearing the same Muggle shirt Lily hated, the same blue-jeans and rectangular glasses with a chip above the right eye. He's James. He's here. But you blink and think through the facts and then he's gone again.  
"You told me it would get better and it hasn't. It's only gotten worse. I can't even see a black-haired baby without having to turn around because he reminds me too much of the godson I had when you were alive. You were my whole life and then you left me. You left me, James. I'm lost without you."

The barman puts a hand over James and puts a piece of parchment in front of you. The bill. You know he can't see him. You know he's not really there.  
You look down. James' figure flickers in the candlelight.  
"I'll never be gone. Look at me," he says, looking you in the eye. "Please, try; it's like I never left."  
You look into his face, see the same scars and burns- the same jagged scar on his eyebrow that you gave him when you were seventeen. The one you saw ripped to pieces (but carefully hidden behind his stupid hair) on his funeral day.  
"Are you alone?" he asks.  
You don't have to answer. You're as drunk as a sailor and the only one left at the bar.  
"Let's get you home," he says.  
"I don't have a home." You slur, slamming the empty glass on the bar counter. "James, stop. I don't have a home."  
He puts your jacket on your shoulder and settles the tab with a pile of silver- steadies you with his arm around your shoulders. He cares enough to stay behind for you.  
"You will tonight." He smiles. "Come on, Lily''ll fix up a bed on the couch. Maybe we can play with Harry before she tucks him in for the night."  
He leads you out the door, and you wave the barman goodbye. Until next year, it says. I'll see you next year today for the rest of my life. It will never truly be goodbye.  
James leads you into the rain, looking you in the eyes. He looks so real but you know it's a lie.  
So you walk out the door alone, watching the street fade to nothing as your long since dead best-friend evaporates with the rain and falls away to the wind.


	2. Sidekick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time has come for you to be a seventeen-year-old war hero,  
> Gryffindor.   
> The fight is on the horizon. There's nothing but Voldemort in your future now.   
> Dust off your sword and ready your shield. Be prepared to wield them for war.   
> (Horcruxes don't come easily, Ron. Bits of a broken soul are harder to find then you'd think. )  
> put on your cape and fly away.   
> Bur learn and never forget where you came from, Ronnie-boy: You never know when it'll be time for a sidekick to save the day.

But you're just a sidekick.  
And although he's the Superman  
|Tall Brave Cunning and Strong|  
and she's your Wonder Woman  
|Smart Decisive Ingenious and beautiful|  
There's no room left over for another.  
And one day, you'll be all alone in this fight, Ronnie boy. You'll be the one who has to [save the day]   
You'll be the Superman on the day the world falls.   
And it'll be then when you find that being a **hero** being a (Superman)   
Isn't all it's cracked up to be  
...  
The world is spinning in lazy circles as you   
{spin Hermione around you} in perfect ecstasy.   
It's the peace before the storm,   
open your eyes, Ron.  
{Hermione's dancing with you.}  
You have your hands on her   
waist and her head on your shoulder. You can feel her heart beating as fast as yours. Too fast for dancing. Don't step in her toes, Ron- pay attention. This is for real this time.   
It's just you and her now.   
For once she isn't Wonder Woman. For once you aren't a {one out of seven, dime for a dozen Weasley boy. Today you're dancing with Hermione.}   
But Fate smirks at your {happylazycircles}   
[let's be honest- it's just your luck]   
And the war pops its ugly head up again.   
-what a time for the ministry to fall, what a time for the Minister to die-   
And that happiness is gone in one fatal swoop. The Death Eaters are coming. Death himself is on your doorstep. Your Hermione's scared- you can't protect her as well as you want. Not even close to what she deserves.   
That dance was walking on stolen ground, Ron. You of all people don't deserve it.   
Green and orange and red and bright purple lights collide and spit fire overhead.   
Explode.   
People are screaming. Death Eaters are advancing.   
One hand- two. Harry and Hermione. *Count* Onetwothree and you're gone.   
...   
Tottenham Court Road. Death Eaters in a Muggle cafe. (Disgusting coffee. Muggle blokes hitting on hermione.) Blast, duck, shoot the first spell you think of. Expelliarmus/Confundus/Stupefy Stupefy!! (protego) Immobulus!   
{obliviate} Hermione whispers. Once. Twice. They fall to the floor.   
[On the count of three]  
One, two- Gone again.   
...   
Your world is spinning \\\out of control\\\  
You're -too young- to be fighting {so many.}  
You're only seventeen. You shouldn't have to be fighting to the death. You shouldn't have to leave your family behind and live on the run. You shouldn't have to destroy Horcruxes. That was for adults, and you're only a kid.   
And when you find yourself sleeping next to her [sidebyside] you realize it:   
Hermione is //perfect//  
-Even though you almost lost her, even though it took you seven years to realize it.-   
But that doesn't matter. All of it is irrelevant now.   
You have to break into the Ministry, soon you'll have to find that locket {kill it, destroy it!} before it destroys you.   
...   
You met Wonder Woman (seven long years ago) on the Hogwarts Express.   
She's not who you think she is, Ron- you first met your [wife] that day.   
That \\\aloof attitude// will fade with time. That girl is more than you give her credit for.   
She's |Smart Decisive Ingenious and beautiful|   
She doesn't look it   
But with time, she'll learn to be a hero [the best of them all to people greater.] Superman's girl, in the end.   
She's been Wonder Woman from the start; a warrior princess from a foreign land. A world of Muggles, the world you've never known.   
She's an [Amazon] Ronnie. She's too perfect for a sidekick. Too perfect for a poor, unfortunate (six out of seven, a dime for a dozen) Weasley boy.   
She's too good for you  
...   
But nothing has really changed since then. You'll still be the same embodiment of a sidekick to {tall/brave/strong heroes} as you were at home.   
Others will   
#shine# while you trail {uselessly} behind.  
but even though you don't look it,  
You're the real (man of steel)  
You're not strong.  
Not tall and cunning and brave.   
[Not at eleven. Not at seventeen]   
{They have Harry for that}. He was the one who  
[FoundTheStone/  
OpenedTheChamber/  
SavedThePrisoner/  
JoinedTheTourment/  
FoundedTheArmy/ and now, most recently;   
Discovered the Horcruxes that saved his life, Voldemort's only weakness. The only thing that keeps him anchored to mortality.   
And Harry did it all with you at his side. (Beating bad guys, saving the world, year after year)   
But there wasn’t enough raw courage to go around, even in Godric Gryffindor’s house- bravery personified.  
::but there are always stowaways, Ron. People there by mistake.   
(Peter Pettigrew, the left-behind Marauder.)   
Ones that aren't supposed to be in that {House of Heroes.}   
The ones who aren't brave. Aren't strong. The cowards hiding their faces- bidding their time.   
*but you're a hero, aren't you*   
(Look around, look at all the things you've done. You were right there. Without you and Hermione, Harry would be dead.)   
And in time, you'll learn to stand tall and proud, be the person they made you to be.  
Hermione noticed. She cared enough to stay behind for you. Last year when you called out her name (not Lavenders) in your sleep   
she held your hand and watched over you until you were well again.   
Or (back at No. 12) when you let her take the couch in a (fit of gallantry) and you fell asleep holding hands?   
See? It doesn't take a lot, Ronnie.   
So pull your chin up- she believes in you.  
Even though it takes time for the best-friend to stand up to the plate.  
You will. And when you do, nothing they throw at you will matter.  
(you're a Gryffindor for a reason)   
That hat doesn't {can't!} lie.  
...   
The time has come for you to be a seventeen-year-old war hero,  
Gryffindor.   
The fight is on the horizon. There's nothing but Voldemort in your future now.   
Dust off your sword and ready your shield. Be prepared to wield them for war.   
(Horcruxes don't come easily, Ron. Bits of a broken soul are harder to find then you'd think. )  
put on your cape and fly away.   
Bur learn and never forget where you came from, Ronnie-boy: You never know when it'll be time for a sidekick to save the day.   
...   
Times will pass.  
And lovelylittle (HermioneJeanGranger)  
Isn't just an eleven-year-old brainiac any more.   
That girl is {pretty}   
You don't understand who you haven't seen her before. Haven't seen her like a real {girl} before.   
She's lost her (bigbuckteeth) and (bushybushyhair)   
And she stands out like a STAR on Christmas Eve night day in and day out.   
Even in a tent and living on the run.   
Even with a Horcrux around her neck.   
!!And you're scared!!  
Scared to discover that you see her as something delightfully   
{more}   
than just a best-friend.   
And it [scares] you.   
But you were to late.   
When you were thirteen and (stupid) you missed your chance.   
Bloody [Viktor Krum] beat you to it. He asked your Hermione to the ball.   
But you don't do anything about your *embarrassing little crush*   
(It wouldn't be called a crush if it felt good, after all)   
You can't fancy your best-friend.   
But {little did you know} that you're   
F   
A  
L  
L  
I  
N  
G  
hardfardeep in love with little Hermione Granger [without even realizing it.]  
...  
Count my words.  
It'll be the hero who gets her in the end.  
Harry'll be the one who wins her over. And like always, you'll be the   
(Best-man, the next in line for the throne) waiting on the sidelines.   
She's not a {damsel in distress}  
She looks it,  
But that girl can hold her own.  
Even though you want to save her from that (Bulgarian heartthrob) deep inside you know you can't.  
(Who would consider Ron Weasley- Harry Potter's best friend- when she could have a world-class Quidditch player?)   
//Wonder Woman// doesn't need a hero.  
She is one. She doesn't need you.  
And you'll watch as she ##saves the day##   
Because what else can you do?  
Wonder Woman and Superman don't {need} a sidekick.   
A trio is a duo and a leftover, Ron.   
Harry and Hermione were (happier) without you.  
Sidekicks don't deserve their *shot in the spotlight*  
Reality.   
That track record is against you Ron. You waited too long and she moved on.   
{since when has the sidekick ever got the girl?}  
You see the way he looks at her. They're your best-friends, and they betrayed you.   
She's not going to wait for you any longer.   
Harry got her first.   
And you leave. Leave your best-friend (lover?) crying and begging and screaming for you in the snow.   
And to everyone else, to the rest of the world, it was just another day; 1997.   
...   
on Christmas Eve night  
You catch that little ball of light   
watch it ""hit your heart""   
And light up the sky as you whiskyourselfaway   
To a snowy (abandoned) hillside.   
Once. Twice, it takes you away. This time to some woods.   
It's the first Christmas you've seen alone.   
The first christmas without your family.   
out of the smoke, you see it:   
A stag- a silvery Patronus not too far away.   
And a man, someone following in hot pursuit. A somebody with messy, unkempt black hair. A somebody you hadn't seen in far too long.   
{hope is not lost, ron. You aren't alone}   
(But who else but Harry's dad has a Stag Patronus? Who could be waiting for you on the other side?)   
["Harry?" Silence. "Hermione?"]   
The stag is there, but you had hoped for more.   
Harry can't hear you.   
(darkness there and nothing more.)   
...  
Kill it, Ron. Don't watch.   
That isn't them.   
{least loved, always, by the mother who craved a daughter}   
{least loved, now, by the girl who prefers your friend...}   
{second best, always, eternally overshadowed...}   
Always eternally second-best. Always a side-kick. Always the best-man waiting on the sidelines.   
...  
in the end, it would take a miracle for that girl to love a (fool) like you.  
...   
Even though you fought and cried and ranranran away you [swear] you'll never leave for good.  
And when you left   
{She cried for weeks, probably longer. She cried for you. Begged for you to come back when she thought I wasn't listening.}  
Harry told you everything.   
Life isn't spinning in lazy circles anymore. Your world is in turmoil   
...  
The answer had been staring you in the face for seven years.   
Harry's cloak.   
Gaunt's ring.   
Dumbledore's wand.   
The three keys to being the Master of Death. All within your grasp.   
{but the wand- it could defeat Voldemort. The others don't understand}   
And then that [traitorous/cowardly/Lovegood]   
Sold you to Voldemort for her- for Luna, for your friend that asked {nothing of you before}   
But you get away. Cheat death one more time. Another bumped slot on the Death Row. One more day alive.   
...   
You forget. The wards weren't up when you were forced to run for your life.   
And then they find you.   
Catch you.   
(Kill you- once they've had their fun)   
Run run run, Ron. #nothing else matters but this- surviving today. not getting caught.   
The Snatchers are gonna get you.   
(Tag you're *it*.)   
(Tagged and marked as a --wanted man-- take one last look as you're dragged away)   
...   
They'll Destroy you by keeping her and [locking you away]   
Locked in the basement and listening to her scream.   
And all you can do is listen as she   
gets /::tortured::\ for information she doesn't have.   
She could be dying and there's {nothing you can do}   
Hermione's going to die tonight.   
(Ripped to shreds. Tortured for pleasure.)   
While you and Harry are trapped and bound as your world ..explodes..   
...  
And like a clockwork- your Horcrux hunt is falling into place.   
You find one, two, three, four (diary, ring, locket, cup- two gone before you started) and destroy them. Three left.   
Three to defeat as the world began to fall.   
(Diadem, snake, and that lightning bolt scar.)   
[bet you didn't know that your best-friend's a Horcrux. Bet you didn't know that Superman's kryptonite was an accident.]   
Even Superman has a weakness.   
He has less than a day to live and he doesn't even know it.   
...  
And on May 2nd, 1998 (the day that still lives in infamy) you and Harry and Hermione storm the castle and bring Hogwarts to its knees.   
Voldemort is coming (and you just happen to be in his way, just happen to be there that night.)   
That is the first time in ten months that you see your family. Tonight will be the last winking eclipse for others when they {die for the cause, fall at a wand and some last words.}  
AND NO MATTER HOW HARD YOU TRY YOU CAN'T SAVE THEM. (you can't protect everyone, Ron.)   
Superman can only save so many before {even he} collapses under the weight.   
He too can only keep them away for so long.   
Some fall to being victims of chance- they die without anyone hearing them. They die completely alone.   
Others are loud and **blinding** and an ::earthshatteringscream:: before they die (cursing the world as they leave it) and its a ::knife to the heart:: because your brother was among the infamous fifty. Fred was leaving you.   
He was only twenty, Ron. And deep in your heart you know that it {could'vebeenyou}   
...  
But that day,   
You'll find yourself facing a giant all by yourself.  
Someone you couldn't hope to defeat (hero or no) a werewolf. A victim of the [midnight sun]   
Because your hero is [gone]  
Harry is dead.  
It'll be just you and him now.  
And he's NINE-FEET-TALL with armor of [steel]  
The last and the (greatest) of them all.   
This is the man who hurt Bill. This is the man who wanted to [rape] Hermione.   
(The dirtydirty word)   
And all you'll have is a slingshot, boy  
[A wand that doesn't belong to you.]  
it's not enough  
but it's --all you'll have--  
{Seventeen-year-old sidekicks can't take down Death Eaters, Ronnie-boy}  
But you have to.  
Wonder Woman isn't (fighting beside you)  
You don't know if she's okay or even still alive- it's too hard to tell.  
Hermione is hurt (bad) this time.  
Your hand will shake, your courage will fade. You stand  
{defenseless} before that giant.  
He will see you like the (boy you are)  
His sword will swing and slice through the air  
His wand will fling curses at you from every angle.  
And you realize that you have !!nowhere to hide!!  
So you jump and throw your arms out, and realize {in that fit of tension} that you would |die| to protect that (girl behind you)  
Because if you don’t survive to see tomorrow (you don't know if you'll live if she dies tonight) it won't be your last breath at Hogwarts. You can't die here.   
Distracted, it barely misses you both  
[this can't be the end for you.]  
You aren't going to die today.  
So from the dust,   
You pick up your weapon.  
(A slingshot can't contend with a sword, boy)  
You reach down and  
pick up a stone, any stone, the first one you see  
(it’s only a pebble really)  
From the rubble of the Once Great Castle standing in ruins.   
put it in  
Your slingshot  
You look up into the sun  
And feel *courage* like [Ichor] running through your veins.  
(That giant can be beaten, Ron)  
So you  
Reach back and pull the string.  
Take a stance and  
try your aim.  
To your amazement  
that little tiny rock  
One luckylucky shot.  
Runs through the air.  
It hits that (man who hurt so many)  
And it  
[takes that bastard down]  
Hits him in the forehead and he falls downdowndown into the dust.  
That curse flew through the air   
Once. Twice.   
(red intermixed with green) and hit him ||straight-in-the-heart||  
You (Ron Weasley) killed him.  
The first time you #aimed to kill# you took that [werewolf/monster/giant] down to his grave.  
the time has come where you can do this alone.  
(That hero trusts you. Times have changed)  
The day has come where she  
needs the sidekick.  
And that Wonder Woman noticed that *tiny spark of courage* that killed the bastard and ::saved her life::  
So she stands  
and smiles.  
In slow motion she comes to you.  
{She runs into your arms,}  
{She runs into your arms.}  
You tangle your hands in her (bushyblood plait) and pull her head towards you.  
And it's in that moment that you learn to forget.  
You- that {sidekick to people greater}  
Kissed her as the enemies ranranran away.  
...  
So Hero   
I told you you'd be something great one day.   
The war is over. Your world is safe.   
Hermione came back in the end.   
Your spurt of heroism came. It happened. And {lucky you} that it just so happened to be today.   
I told you could be a someone someday   
You got the girl- the war is finished.   
And even though your girl is a Wonder Woman and your best-friend is Superman   
You (Ron Weasley, war hero, destroyer of one of Voldemort's Horcruxes)   
Was never just a (six out of seven, dime for a dozen) Weasley.   
Now you're a war hero.   
Now you can go forth in peace.   
It is finished. 


	3. Good Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petunia and Dudley never had it easy. Not on Privet Drive. Most certainly not in hiding. Not when they're running two steps ahead of their clearer-than-mud Muggle name: not when Harry Potter's their nephew.   
> Life isn't black and white living as a refugee, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second installment of this story, though unrelated from the first, is still one of my absolute favorites. It's done in a rough approximation of "free verse", following a style and flow that I invented for it. Give it a try, and let me know what you thought!   
> -V

You're good, you're fine, and everything's okay.   
You paste on a smile and cut out the heartache.   
{If you say so} a blind heart  
will believe anything.   
It's done.   
And you're okay.   
{lies}   
Because you're not okay   
Not even close.   
But you say it and   
smile with the sun in your  
eyes and that makes everything just ;:perfect:;  
Your (prettylittlefacade) is complete.   
{you're a fool to believe it, but you do anyways}   
...  
But you're no fool.   
You're the ::sun:: and   
the moon and a   
*thousand twinkling stars*.   
But you can't see it, can you?   
You only see the dark because   
you are the light.   
[It's been dampened and hidden- pinched and cramped for years.]   
But it's still there. It won't ever go away.   
It's that magic those Wizards couldn't find. The kind of magic only some people have.   
(And the sun can't shine with all this darkness, hon.)   
Lighten up- the world isn't going to end today.   
...  
It takes time  
(Because you're related to Harry, the Muggle records were wiped to keep you safe.)  
[__To everyone you once knew, you never even existed__]  
And it hurts, doesn't it? It hurts a lot.   
You think of all of your (long-lost-acquaintances) every day, every minute it seems.   
It hurts to move on because that (was) your life. You were a wife and a mother and a aunt. Nothing more, nothing less. But the wife in you is long gone, hon; you haven't been a wife for ten years.   
...  
So you move on.   
At least you have Dudley. At least you have somewhere to be safe, even if it is living with Daedalus Diggle and Hestia Jones. Even if it is in a dingy flat in London that will never be clean enough or dry enough to be good enough for you to be happy.   
The kitchen helps. It keeps you sane and grounded. Cooking is soothing- cooking is normal (as normal as it can be, you think)   
It's a pitiful dive for perfection (a right, you think. A right to be normal and safe where you belong.) but you won't admit it.   
[At least you weren't the ones fighting for your lives]   
(#you don't say it but all four of you know it to be true. You got the better end of the deal in the end.)   
...   
At the closing of that (horrid) year, Vernon left for good.   
(He closed the door behind his fat behind six months ago. He left you just when you needed him.)   
Until then, living in hiding was nothing more than an extended bank holiday. He had his telly and you had your kitchen. Fine. Good enough.   
But when the power went, you refused to follow him. It was too dangerous. ("You would all be killed!")   
[at least Hestia was on your side]   
To your delight (when forced to pick sides) Dudley stayed with you. Perhaps he remembered those horrid soul-sucking ;things; from years before. The world was black enough as it was without your son joining the fray.   
He left on the day before Christmas, walked out the safe-house door and didn't look back- disappearing into the night. It's your first Christmas of war. Your first Christmas alone.   
And it {shames you to say} that you still think about him as your husband, late at night when you miss the company. Even if it was formal and forced. Even if he isn't a man you loved.   
[hon, you've been little more than acquaintances for years.] it really was only a matter of time.   
So now, (six months later) you're still nothing more than a refugee. Nothing more than dependent on someone else for survival.   
That was the last time you saw him. You'd never see your ex-husband again. (the best gossip-worthy material) What a scandal. But (we both know) that you care far too much to be a just another scarlet woman. Divorce wasn't an option.   
...  
In August, Harry moves you and Dudley into the Wizarding World for good ("it's the only safe place for you now")   
And you hate it.   
Hate being less than normal, you've spent the   
entirety of your life being   
just like everyone else.   
You hated being a Muggle in a world of magic. Being the only one without a wand to solve their problems.   
But it's better than the alternative, No. 4 is long gone. Somebody else lives in your house now, all of your {vain and coveted things} are sold. You aren't a religious person (never have been, never will be) but can't help but label this as fate.   
You've gone full circle- except this time   
you're thrust into it (unwillingly) and you   
don't-want-to-be-there no matter what they say.   
This is the world that killed your sister. This is the world your nephew saved.   
(You don't want to hear the details) grisly deaths leave a bad taste in your mouth. You don't want to hear about the people who died to keep {helplesslittleMuggles} like you safe. You don't want to see the funerals. You don't want to hear Harry (the eighteen-year-old war hero/the boy with spellotaped glasses and a lightening-bolt scar)   
give a speech in front of thousands.   
You want safety. You want retreat. You want rest. But the post-war peace is none-of-the-above.   
It's forced conversations and endless memorials. (You're told only fifty Order members [the good guys, Hestia says] and Hogwarts students died in the final battle.)   
you're told your nephew died and came back to life.   
The facts come rolling in like wildfire. Nobody understands why you didn't already know.   
It's unbelievable. Inconceivable that your sisters boy (Lily's son) had done so many (stupid/idiotic/heroic) things over the years. Saved your lives and learned to deal with you during the summer. (And you had no idea, no clue that he was fighting to keep his world safe) keeping Harry safe was harder than it should've been.   
("Why didn't that... Headmaster kill him off?" [The one who dangled drinks in front of your nose and treated you like a guest in your own house.] "Why couldn't he do it?")   
["You-Know-Who could only be killed by Harry, Mrs. Dursley,"] says Hestia. ["And Dumbledore died a year ago."]   
("What? Why?")   
["Severus Snape was a cowardly Death Eater. . . That's why."]   
...   
Harry tells you that he got a job, some rubbish... An Auror, he said. The magic version of a special police unit. He asks if you want to move.   
(Of course) you say. (Why would I want to stay here?)   
When you arrive and watch (to your amazement) that fine house poke its way into the world you find yourself confused.   
His Godfathers house? He's giving you his dead Godfather's house?   
("I don't need it,") he says. ("I'm fixing up my parents place in Godric's Hollow for Ginny and I.")   
Harry told you that his Godfather's family were in with the Death Eaters- how they were all gone now. Dead because their Pure line died out with Sirius' death.   
Fine. It's good enough.   
[Harry tells you that the Aurors have already been through, cleaning and removing the Dark Magic (whatever that is) from the house. It's safe enough]   
But when you move in, and put (one pillow instead of two, two sets of dishes instead of three) it hits you:   
This is your life now. Single. Living out the rest of your life alone.   
...   
In this house, even the little adjustments are foreign to you. The trolls foot umbrella stand in the hall. Drinking coffee and reading the Prophet every morning with Dudley.(it's the Wizarding news. Even though you don't like it here, you've always liked being informed in the goings-on in the world.)  
It started with little things- using the Floo Network to get around instead of a car, going to Diagon Alley to buy your produce. (you swear the tomatoes are better than home-grown there.) going to a Quidditch match with Harry to see his fiancé play.   
In September, that horriblegiantman (the one who gave your son a tail like a pig) appears at your fireplace. Says he'll need a hand this year.   
[will you let your son go to Hogwarts?]   
("Is it safe?")   
The man (Hagrid, he says) laughs. A contagious laugh that has Dudley guffawing almost as loud as him. Perhaps in fear, you couldn't be sure.   
("It'll be safe, Missus Dursley. Dudley 'ere will be a big help. I teach Care a' Magical Creatures at Hogwarts, the Unicorns and Centaurs 'ave been a real menace since the war's been over, 'ya see. All riled up, ya'know. Could use an extra 'and. Harry tells me he's the righ' man for the job.")   
("Will my son be safe?")   
("The Headmistress, [Minerva McGonagall, you realize. The one you met at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade.] ("says as long as we're real careful, Dudley 'ere can come.")   
Hagrid then slaps his meaty hand on your sons shoulder. To your confusion, he looks overjoyed.   
So you let him. Find yourself sitting at the bar in Hogsmeade when you're lonely. (It turns out you're not the only one.) And soon you find yourself on a first-name basis with the pub owners- Aberforth and Rosmerta, laughing with the Hogwarts professors and Dudley on the weekends. You couldn't remember ever feeling this content.   
...  
Then one day, you find that yourself and Dudley haven't been in the Muggle world (the normal world) in over three months. It's October now. Nine months since it happened.   
Are you alright? Is this okay?   
(As good it will be.) you think.   
You're happier than you ever have been.   
For you, for anyone, It's far more than good enough.


End file.
